


Amongst the Archives

by writinginthedust



Category: A Court of Thorns and Roses Series - Sarah J. Maas
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-27
Updated: 2018-07-27
Packaged: 2019-06-17 08:12:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,859
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15457050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writinginthedust/pseuds/writinginthedust
Summary: There was a post going around a while ago about Cassian leaving little love notes for Nesta in her books which Rhys finds so thought I would spin it into some fluff with naughty words!





	Amongst the Archives

“Your sister is blushing.”

“Hmm?” Feyre glanced up from her painting and looked over at Elain who was on her knees in the flower beds. “I don’t know why, she’s only planting sweet-peas.”

Rhys let out a low chuckle. “No, not that one. Not unless the stems are being naughty.”

Feyre looked at Rhys as he lounged and sipped his wine. The lazy afternoon sun danced off his skin as he titled his head to something he could see and Feyre turned to look behind her.

Of course she knew he was referring to Nesta, it wasn’t like Feyre had a plethora of sisters that had suddenly willed themselves into existence. When she realised it wasn’t Elain that was blushing a part of Feyre genuinely wondered who on earth Rhys was referring to. After all, he would never actually mean _Nesta._

But there she was. Walking steadfast from the townhouse into the garden towards Elain. At first glance there was nothing different about her. Nesta’s pace was controlled and her eyes held the determination of a woman on a mission. The ink blue skirts of her dress rustled about her legs as she walked and she had braided her gold-brown into a crown that was pinned to the top of her head, not a strand out of place. Both of her hands clutched onto a set of ancient looking books, their bindings so old that what was once gold was now yellow.

There was nothing out of the ordinary with the picture except... Rhys was right. A dusky pink had bloomed up Nesta’s long pale neck and onto her cheeks. If Feyre didn’t know that Nesta had spent all day inside reading she would have thought that she had caught the end of the midday sun.

“So she is,” Feyre said, turning back to Rhys. “What on earth are you making her read?”

Rhys raised his eyebrows. “I can assure you Feyre, darling my book assignments are strictly academic.” He took another long sip from his glass, “Unless you think that Nesta would find the volumes of ‘A History of Trade Routes and Agreements of the Courts of Prythian’ excitable?”

Feyre shot him a look. “Maybe she isn’t feeling well?”

They both looked again, the blush was fading as Nesta spoke to Elain.

Rhys shrugged, “Maybe.”

***

There was a full itinerary. There would be weeks spent away from the Night Court, possibly even months. Agenda’s had been written and debated and then re-written and argued over some more.

Preparations were in place to take care of the Night Court while they were away and plans for visits were spiralling with more and more tasks being added to their lists. Following the third civil, war trade agreements needed to be re-established and war assistance programmes needed to be agreed. There was also the movement of political prisoners to be negotiated and treaties to be drawn up.

Feyre hadn’t seen as much of Rhys as she had wanted to but then she was hardly idle herself. None of them were. Azriel, Cass, Mor; all of them working to the bone. Nesta was as well but hers was a more intellectual preparation. Rhys had given her the agenda of all the meetings and a list of recommended books from the libraries and she had taken the information with a nod and began her immediate pursuit of knowledge. Every day Nesta had risen at the crack of dawn to The House of Wind where she began her studies.

She was relentless in her endeavour. To the point where Feyre had even heard Cassian mention the little time he got to spend with his mate.

“She’s unyielding,” he had said. “If there’s a task that she’s set her mind to then _nothing_ will stop her. _Nothing._ ” But he had said it with his hazel eyes sparkling.

In bed, Feyre replayed the days gossip and mentioned the conversation she’d had with Cassian to Rhys. “He adores her,” she said, “it’s...” and she paused to think of the word. “It’s actually lovely.”

Rhys barked out a laugh and tucked Feyre into his shoulder. “Lovely,” he repeated, “now there’s a word that I never thought anyone would use to describe Cassian or Nesta. Especially in relation to Cassian _and_ Nesta.”

“Oh hush,” she told him and pulled his mouth down to hers.

***

“Nesta?”

There was silence from within the library.

Feyre looked towards the desk that Nesta had clearly been working from with its large selection of papers and books strewn around the wooden top. Parchments of paper were decorated with Nesta’s familiar cursive writing from where she had been taking notes. The list that Rhys had given her sat on the top of a pile of books, a neat tick next to the ones she had read.

The next one, in Rhys’ blocked writing said, ‘ _Codex of Meetings Held Between Spring and Night Courts V.12.’_ Feyre shuddered, wondering how anyone could bring themselves to read volumes one through eleven but she set off amongst the stacks to find her sister.

It didn’t take Feyre long to find her. About eight stacks down there she was, halfway down the aisle and reading. Feyre was about to call her name but stopped short. The book was tucked under Nesta’s left arm but her right hand held a piece of parchment that she was reading from. What made Feyre pause was the re-appearance of the blushing.

Nesta was engrossed in whatever it was she was reading, her lips slightly parted as her eyes moved across the page. At one-point Feyre saw Nesta’s eye widen and the light pink on her sister’s neck and face turned bright strawberry.

Feyre walked towards her thinking that Nesta would hear her approach but whatever had been written on that paper had captured Nesta’s attention fully. Feyre was at her elbow and glanced briefly down at the paper before she spoke.

“Nesta?”

A shriek ripped out of Nesta’s mouth and she leapt back, the ancient Codex dropping to the floor with a bang but the piece of paper remained firmly in Nesta’s grip.

“Feyre!” Nesta clutched her hand to her chest and took some deep breathes. “What are you doing?” The strawberry shade to Nesta’s skin was now a deep scarlet. The blush spreading further down her neck to her chest where she pressed her hand.

“I came to tell you dinner is ready. You’ve been up here since morning.”

Nesta nodded and gulped for air. “Yes, of course. Of course.”

Feyre frowned, “Are you ok?”

Nesta gave a small nod of her head and a tight smile appeared on her face. “I’m fine Feyre, I was just concentrating that’s all.”

“You’ve been working on this incredibly hard. Maybe you should take a break, Rhys won’t mind. I’m sure he can look at some of the other books and...”

“No!” If Feyre thought that Nesta’s shriek had been loud it was nothing compared to the volume of her protest. At the look on Feyre’s face, Nesta cleared her throat and began again, quieter and significantly more controlled, significantly more _Nesta_ this time. “There’s no need. I’ll have dinner and rest for the evening. I’ll make sure to start later in the morning tomorrow. That will be enough to refresh me.”

“Are you sure?”

Another tight smile. “Of course, I am Feyre,” Nesta said with finality as she bent to pick up the book and tucked it back under her arm. That was the end of the discussion then. Feyre walked back with Nesta to her desk but noticed that as she placed the book on the pile, the piece of paper that she had been reading was still firmly gripped in her hand.

***

“I think,” she began, “I saw some _words._ ”

Rhys laughed and looked at her affectionately, “Books have them my darling.”

Feyre swatted at him. “No, not the book. I’m talking about the paper she was reading. It was handwritten I’m sure of it and it said... things.”

“Oh,” Rhys asked, his interest piqued. “What sort of things?”

Feyre looked up at him, her expression coy. “I think I saw the word _throb._ ”

“Oh,” Rhys said again. “Really?”

“Yes and... moist.”

“Moist?” Rhys shifted beside her. “Well there’s a word. I know there were some rainy days in Spring when we visited but I didn’t think they were recorded down.”

Feyre gave his side a gentle pinch. “I’m telling you it was on a handwritten note, it wasn’t in the book.”

There was a brief silence and Feyre snuggled further into Rhys’ side before he spoke again. “What did the handwriting look like?”

“Spiky and very bold. Like the pen had been pressed heavily into the paper.”

Feyre twisted around in Rhys’ arms and looked up at him. The grin on his face was so wide it made his cheeks crease and the look in his eyes spoke of nothing but mischief.

“Oh dear,” she said. “I shouldn’t have said anything.”

***

Rhys insisted that Nesta took a break. The books will still be there tomorrow afternoon, he had told her. Completely undisturbed. It was the last comment that seemed to relax her shoulders and she had curtly nodded.

It told Rhys all he needed to know.

It didn’t seem to matter that the library was technically Feyre and Rhys’ because the way they crept along the stacks made it seem like they were naughty children up to trouble. They held their hands fast together and paused every so often to check that Nesta, or even Cassian for that matter, hadn’t decided to head their way.

Rhys held a copy of the book list in his hand. “I made one for myself,” he had told Feyre. “Of course, I didn’t think I’d ever go looking for any of them.”

In the library Nesta’s desk and chair was undisturbed. Piles of books with spines of silver and maroon and teal were stacked one on top the other but with no sign of anything that resembled hand written notes.

Through each of the windows the light streamed in creating pools of gold on the ground and the place smelt ever so slightly of dust. There was a strange calm in this place and Feyre could see why it suited Nesta. But it was a strange calm that her and Rhys were about to disturb.

“I don’t know if I actually want to know,” Feyre said.

“Not even a little?” Rhys asked.

“No,” she lied and dragged him further down the stacks.

_Tithe Practices of the Early Post War Years_ was a large, beige book with deep brown lettering. Nothing about it looked remotely interesting to Feyre’s eyes and yet here they were, lifting it off the shelf.

Rhys held it gently by the spine and turned it upside down, giving a small shake. A folded piece of paper fluttered to the ground like a leaf from where it had been hidden amongst the pages and Rhys picked it up.

Feyre crossed her arms and leant back on the stack. “Now what?” she asked.

“Now,” Rhys replied, “we read.”

Rhys unfolded the paper and Feyre could see the same spiky, deep handwriting that she had seen the other day.

“It’s Cassian’s handwriting alright,” Rhys said.

“What does it say?”

Rhys skimmed through the note. “Sentiments about love, how he misses her, that she works too hard, that he can’t wait for this to all be over and oh-” Rhys’ eyebrows shot up.

“Oh?” Feyre uncrossed her arms and stood to attention. “What? What is ‘oh?’”

A wicked grin spread over Rhys face. “Are you sure you want me to read it out loud Feyre, darling?”

“Yes!”

“Are you sure? Because the sentence I am currently on is Cassian singing his delight at when your sister ‘spasms around his tongue.’”

Feyre felt her face go white. “No.”

“Oh yes, and apparently after he has drunk from her body he has plans to trace his tongue from her navel to her breasts until she writhes and begs for him to take his cock and...”

“Enough!” she squealed, slapping her hands over her ears. “I understand! I get it!”

Rhys grinned and stopped reading, “Shame, it was just getting really good.” He looked at her with a sly eye. “Do you think they’re so lovely now?”

Feyre shuddered.

***

The problem they had, Feyre decided, is that they couldn’t leave well enough alone.

Rhys had carefully folded the note back into place so that neither Nesta nor Cassian would know what they had done and then left the library, Feyre feeling levels of discomfort that she had never felt before while Rhys chortled to himself.

“I think I quite enjoyed the _pounding,”_ Rhys said and then turned a sly eye to Feyre, “but I probably didn’t enjoy it as quite as much as Nesta will.”

She had muttered something at him under her breath and promised herself she would never go searching in the library again.

The problem was that Nesta had turned a glorious shade of vermillion as she ticked _Tithe Practices_ off the list and an even darker shade still when she ticked off _Pre-War Practices of the Seasonal and Solar Courts_ and frankly, that was enough to drag Feyre back in.

That was why they were in the library, _again,_ hidden in the stacks with a small pile of books in front of them as they sat on the floor.

Feyre’s face was buried in her hands. If she couldn’t technically _see_ the notes, it meant that she hadn’t _read_ them. At least that was what she told herself.

“So,” Rhys said beside her, “Which one should I read first? I have ‘intoxicated with the scent of you’ _, ‘_ yearning for the feel of your skin’ _,_ or my personal favourite, ‘spanking your magnificent, curved buttocks before I slip myself into your welcoming heat.’ _”_

Feyre pushed her head further into her hands and murmured something.

Rhys carried on, “Oh this one has the word _slippery._ ”

Feyre looked up sharply, “I feel awful.”

Rhys sighed, “The guilt catching up with you?”

“No, I mean I feel _awful._ As in sick. I think it was the liberal use of _succulent_ and _pulsate_ in the last one and I don’t want to think about Nesta _tugging_ at anything of Cassian’s.” She bent her head back down. “He’s used so many words _,_ I just never knew he knew so many _words_.”

***

All the notes had been carefully put back in their rightful place.

They would never know, Rhys told Feyre. We won’t read anymore and we won’t speak of it again. She had readily agreed. Cassian using _erupt_ had finally tipped her over.

So here they were, having finally left things alone. Being normal.

Dinner was the usual fare. Elain inquiring as to the state of the preparations and being politely answered by Az, Cassian ribbing Mor as she relayed some incident that happened in the town, Amren and Nesta discussing books while Feyre and Rhys sat side by side, their thighs pressed together under the tables.

It was all fine. All fine.

“What text are you currently on?” Feyre heard Amren ask Nesta.

“The Traditional Practices and Rites of Prythian High Lords and the Cultural Impact Upon High Fae,” Nesta replied.

_Your body is the land that I wish to fly, over its rounded peaks and down into its hidden valleys._

“Ugh,” said Amren, “Sounds horrendous.”

“It’s not too awful,” Nesta said, “there are some interesting passages.”

_I want to spread you open before me and feast, I never knew hunger until I met you._

“I recall that there were a few horrific entries about Hewn City,” Amren shook her head.

Feyre could see Nesta nod in response, “Yes, some of the sections don’t make for easy reading especially some of the excuses as to why some of the rites should be performed.”

_I need to drink from your body again and again, it’s only you that can quench this never-ending thirst. I am a feral creature, only you tame me. I will never be sated, you make me insatiable._

“Do they mention the Feast of the First Night?”

“Yes, and I’m glad that was outlawed.”

_I want your nails digging into my flesh, I want to feel you squirm beneath me, I want you to suck my tongue as I plunge into you again and again and again, I want the feel of your body wet around mine. Your legs are mine, your tongue is mine, your breasts are mine, your tight wet heat is mine. My cock is yours..._

Feyre’s vision began to swim. Worryingly she could seem to recall every note in every text. She glanced at Rhys from the corner of her and saw he was fine, better than fine. He sipped his wine and ate his food just like everyone else.

Cassian roared loudly at something Mor said, his head thrown back, his dark wild hair scattered about his shoulders, his hazel eyes merry.

_You are mine, Nesta._

Nesta was engrossed in her conversation with Amren. Her hair was immaculate and tidy with her usual braid pinned neatly. Her posture was rigid and her skin was porcelain, her expression as smooth as glass.

_I am yours, Nesta. All that I have to offer is yours._

Cassian called out across the table to Az, for him to hear what Mor just said. He leant forward, his large body swamping the chair and he picked up a flagon of wine to pour into his glass. Feyre suddenly realised how large Cassian’s hands were. Even though she had held them on occasion as a friend for comfort, all she could see now was those hands as they parted her sister’s thighs, as they cupped her sister’s face, as they caressed her sister’s breasts.

Cassian took a long sip of wine and Feyre saw his lips glisten as he put the glass back down. Another shudder moved up her spine. She knew too much about where those lips had been.

_I adore you, Nesta. I worship you. If you were an alter I would sacrifice at you every hour of every day._

Nesta’s pale hand with long fingers reached out to delicately remove a bread roll from the stack. Oh god, Feyre thought. She also knew too much about what those fingers had done.

It was quick but Feyre saw it. The glance that Nesta threw Cassian’s way, the way that Cassian had caught it, the way his face softened ever so slightly and the wink. Barely there but there enough for a silent observer to have seen it. There was no change to Nesta’s expression as she turned away but Feyre could see a rose-coloured bloom against the pearl of her sister’s skin.

_I love you, Nesta. I have never loved anyone more. I will never love anyone more._

She didn’t know she was going to do it but it was as though her body acted out of the control of her mind. _This,_ she thought, _is a guilty conscience._

Feyre stood up so abruptly that her chair would have tipped back if it wasn’t for Rhys’ fast reflexes.

“I’ve read them!” she yelled into the room. All occupants stopped what they were doing and turned to stare at her. All of the faces looked bewildered, all aside Rhys who closed his eyes.

Feyre continued, “I know about the savouring and the suppleness and the... and the... _licking.”_ She looked around, all the faces still looked confused. The next sentence was a whisper and Feyre squeezed her eyes shut, “and all the _neck nuzzling_.”

There was a gasp from the table and it was nothing like the erotic gasps that had been described in sordid details tucked in between the pages of _The History of Prythian: Abridged._ This gasp was followed by the clang of cutlery hitting a plate and the scrape of a chair.

When Feyre opened her eyes, she saw that her horrified older sister was now standing, her fists clenched so tightly they were shaking. Nesta’s tranquil ivory skin had turned splotchy and matched the deep cherry red of the wine. There were no words muttered, no movement aside from the frantic raise and fall of Nesta’s chest. Without a sound, Nesta turned on her heel and walked quickly from the room, the only noise being the ruffling of her skirts.

Everyone’s eyes moved from Feyre to Rhys and then subtly over to Cassian. With a wince, Feyre followed suit and took in the casual looking Commander as he sat on his chair. The dancing joy in his eyes was gone. There was no anger, no boiling rage to match Nesta’s but his body was stiff. His shoulders were tight and his wings were pulled in. Despite the casual appearance his whole body was on edge. Cassian’s eyes showed no anger but all Feyre could see was the look of disappointment that crushed her.

***

“I’m fucking your sister.”

Feyre groaned and buried her head in her hands. “I know you are,” she murmured. “Of course you are, you’ve been mates for over sixty years.”

“I’m aware. But let’s get this all out in the open. I’m fucking your sister. We both enjoy it very much.”

Feyre lifted her head from her hands and winced, “I gathered.”

Cassian made a noise and she looked up and made eye contact. A withering glare was thrown her way. She mouthed ‘sorry’ and sat back.

“And she also happens to enjoy it very much when I tell her, in great detail, how much I enjoy it.”

Feyre winced again. She was learning too much, she had already learnt too much. Knowledge came at a price and this feeling, and the burning shame, was the cost.

The first, and most stupid thing out of her mouth was, “Did you have to write her notes about it?”

A strange hum of power radiated from the male in front of her and when she glanced at Cassian again she saw that his siphons were glowing. It would have been a wonderous sight to behold the surging of power if that surge wasn’t directed at her. That the anger boiling underneath Cassian’s skin was directed at her. Mate trumped High Lady. Always.

“Should you have read them?” Cassian’s voice was clipped in response.

They shouldn’t have. It wasn’t even a question to ask.

Feyre’s voice was significantly quieter when she asked, “Where is she now?”

“With Amren and Elain. I believe Amren is convincing her not to commit high treason by murdering her High Lord and High Lady. It’s taking some convincing.”

“And do you...”

“Do I what?”

“Want to commit high treason?”

With a sigh, Cassian sat down next to her. “What I did writing those notes was a risky little game that I was hoping would have high payoffs.” From the cocky grin he suddenly sprouted Feyre knew that the risk probably paid out dividends. She shuddered.

The grin disappeared as quickly as it appeared and Cassian’s face was serious once more. “What you and Rhys did was an invasion of privacy and one that you sought out to invade time and time again. I can cope with that, I know that you’re both nosy idiots but Nesta, well she’s humiliated and hurt and _that’s_ what matters to me.”

_I love you, Nesta. I have never loved anyone more. I will never love anyone more._

The spiky handwriting seared itself into her brain, the little glance that Nesta threw Cassian at the dinner table replayed itself as did the softening of Cassian’s rough-hewn features.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre whispered, her voice sounding like it might break, “I’m so sorry.”

“I know you are.” Cassian wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her towards him, a brotherly kiss landing on her head. “Go apologise to your sister while I go see to Rhys.”

“What do you mean, ‘go see to Rhys?’”

Cassian grinned at her, a dark twinkle in his eyes. “Oh Feyre, I let you off easy.”

***

Nesta was in the library but not at the desk where Feyre expected her to be. Luckily, she was alone with no Amren or Elain in sight which Feyre had hoped meant that Nesta was calm enough to talk.

“Nesta?” She asked and watched as her sister’s spine went rigid and her shoulders drew back. She stood up in front of the fire that she had been kneeling over and Feyre could see piece upon piece of parchment burning in the flames.

When Nesta turned to face her there was no flames in her eyes, just a wall of ice. “What do you want?” Her tone was just as cold.

Feyre swallowed her nerves down, feeling as though she was a child again, trying to hold her place against her frosty eldest sister. “To apologise.”

Nesta blinked once and moved towards the desk before pulling out the chair and sitting down. “As should be expected.” She reached out and took a book from the top of a stack and flipped it open.

“I’m truly sorry.”

Nesta continued to turn the pages and stared straight down at the text, ignoring Feyre completely.

Feyre sighed and turned away but stopped when she heard Nesta speak.

“It’s been so long Feyre, I thought we were past this.” It wasn’t so much the statement but the undercurrent of emotion behind the statement that made Feyre pause.

She walked towards the desk with quick steps and looked down at Nesta’s bowed head, she was speaking to her but still wouldn’t look up from the book.

“Past what?”

“Hurting each other. Being cruel. Humiliating the other.”

Feyre could feel her stomach drop. Nesta thought it had been a deliberate act of cruelty, a purposeful intention to harm. “No,” she said. “Nesta, it was never like that. It was a stupid, thoughtless thing to do and I regret it but it was never done to embarrass you. It was...”

It _was_ stupid and thoughtless and could only have caused harm, Feyre realised that now. But she needed Nesta to know that it was never a calculated gesture of malice. “Nesta...” but Feyre’s voice trailed off as he sister still refused to look up. “Please.” And Feyre poured every ounce of desperation into that word, every drop of regret that she had.

Nesta turned a page and removed a piece of parchment that had been folded and tucked into the binding. Feyre could see dark, spiky handwriting through the paper and felt her stomach lurch. She never wanted to see anything with that handwriting on again.

“I hear Cassian is dealing with Rhys.”

Feyre blinked. “Yes.”

“Good.” Nesta’s voice was hard but not brittle. Though Rhys and Nesta had dealt with much of their difficulties as they best could and had repaired some damage caused long ago, their relationship was still not one anyone would call warm.

Nesta looked up at Feyre then, her blue-grey eyes having lost some of the ice. “You invaded my privacy.”

“I know.”

“You should never have read those notes.”

“I know.”

“It was hurtful and foolish and you still need to learn to keep your nose out of other people’s business.”

Feyre was about to contest the last point but realised that she didn’t have much of a current cause to help her case. “Yes,” she replied, “I know.”

“Sit down,” Nesta gestured to a chair opposite. “You can help me take notes on this volume, it’s incredibly boring.” And she held up a copy of ‘ _Farming Practices of the Seasonal Courts.’_ “If I wanted to know how to milk a cow I would have become a milk-maid.”

Wanting to oblige, Feyre sat down and took the book from her sister, cautiously anxious that a scrap of something would flutter to the floor. But nothing did.

They sat in a strange, companionable silence with nothing but the crackling of the fire and the scribbling of quills filling the air. There were so many things that Feyre shouldn’t have done but it seemed like she couldn’t help herself. Even in the silence, even now, Feyre opened her mouth.

“I didn’t know that Cassian could be so... linguistic.”

There was a pause in Nesta’s scribing and Feyre could see the nib of the quill hovering over the page. Feyre inwardly cursed as she noticed the tension in Nesta’s shoulders reappear. And then suddenly, it had gone and Feyre noticed that they trembled slightly as though she was crying. Or laughing.

“Yes,” Nesta said with a clipped tone. “He is a very cunning linguist.”

Feyre found herself nodding in agreement before she realised what Nesta had said and immediately recalled Rhys’ reading out a section where Cassian was very liberal with describing exactly what his tongue would do to Nesta once he had her hovering over his mouth. “Oh,” she said. And left it at that.

“You know,” and Nesta looked up at Feyre, a dark twinkle in her eyes that matched the one Cassian wore, “you should consider yourselves lucky that you never found the ones I wrote back.”


End file.
